Rats
by qwanderer
Summary: The nature of some of the rats in Ankh-Morpork. It goes slowly, but it goes. Necessary things happen. Funny things also happen. I call it, Chapter Seven.
1. Morning Watch

Disclaimer: I am not Terry Pratchett. I will never be Terry Pratchett. I have been forced, with great reluctance, to admit this. These characters and settings which achieve semblance of life in my hands, could not truly live, or at least truly achieve the undeadness that is their own, without Pratchett's words behind them.  
  
This is my first Discworld fan fiction. Please tell me if you see the characters the same way I do.  
  
And now, because there has been confusion, here is a list of all the characters even mentioned, and the credit due for their creation:  
  
I have borrowed many from the twisted ingeniousness of Terry Pratchett, including: Commander Sir Samuel Vimes; Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson; Havelock Vetinari; Leonard da Quirm; Lord Downey; Darktan; Sardines; Bestbefore; Bitesize; Skrp; Wee Mad Arthur; Downspout; Keith; Malicia Grimm (seen only as Girl with Frying Pan); possibly the Librarian; and this version of DEATH. List may be amended later.  
  
I have used the indubitable Pterry's style to create my own Discworld inhabitants, such as: Cornflakes; Apply Liberally; Mantis; Lord Trinton Bezoar Rithtake III and his Servant; Jack "Nostrils" Jackson and the associated Dwarf; Reek; Kevin; Verland Spacks and his Bodyguard; Vrrkeh; Rth; Encks; Lord Zandemere; Band of Musicians. List may be amended later.  
  
Chapter One  
  
***  
  
Commander Sir Samuel Vimes and Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson walked along the streets of Ankh-Morpork. They were doing what Watchmen did best - looking, and listening, and keeping out of trouble. Of course, thought Vimes, the days are long gone when that was all we did. This city would never be anything less than a cesspit; but even they have to get mucked out once in a while. And someone's got to do the job.  
  
Vimes glanced at the captain, walking beside him with a slight smile on his face, greeting everyone he knew, which was everyone. Carrot didn't see the city that way. He only saw the best of it, or appeared to; and he loved the city. Vimes, on the other hand, only saw the worst, or pretended to; and he loved it too.  
  
They strolled down an alley near the Ankh, the river so dirty that it only moved faster than the ground around it because it was slightly damper. Vimes would have said the air was particularly foul, and Carrot would have commented on the unique vertiginous* growth.  
  
[*He meant to say 'verdurous,' but he was closer the first time. 'Verdurous' means 'covered in the greenness of vegetation.' 'Vertiginous' means 'nauseating.']  
  
Suddenly, a small furry shape darted out in front of them, bowed, and said in a squeak of a voice, "Good morning, sirs!" Vimes noticed that it was wearing a tiny gold badge on a chain. The two watchmen stopped and stared. The rat, for so it appeared to be, continued. "Lieutenant Cornflakes, Bad Blintz City Watch, at your service, sir."  
  
"I haven't been drinking again, have I?" asked Vimes quietly.  
  
"No, sir," said Carrot, his face a blank.   
  
"I didn't think so. Do you see a rat wearing a badge, who says his name is Cornflakes?"   
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Right, then," Vimes said, and he got down on one knee. "Good morning, Lieutenant. I'm Commander Vimes. Ah...pardon me, but I've never seen a watchman, er, watchperson, er, member of the watch of your species before."  
  
"Yes, sir, I expect not. Even in Bad Blintz, it takes people by surprise." Cornflakes turned to Carrot. "And who is your noble companion?" he asked.   
  
Vimes looked at the captain expectantly. Carrot was still standing, wooden-faced, staring at the small lieutenant.   
  
"But - but you're a rat!" Carrot said with a worried expression.  
  
"Captain Carrot, are you feeling all right?" Vimes asked in confusion. Carrot was usually the first to welcome a new face to the Watch, no matter if it had fur on, or fangs, or was two feet from the ground, or made of granite and just as thick. What was it about this particular shape that made the man act this way? Then it hit him. "Ah," he said, "You'll have to excuse the captain. He's a dwarf, by adoption."  
  
"Dwarves!" squeaked Cornflakes, and shrunk from them in horror.   
  
Vimes looked from one of his companions to the other. It was odd enough to be in this situation at all, but to be the one accepting it, for him, was like waking up to find that someone had stolen your skin in the night, and you were wearing someone else's. He sighed, and decided to put aside his questions for the moment. This was just like any other argument between two watchmen who decided they were too different and couldn't live in the same universe.  
  
"All right," he said. "Everything's fine. No one is going to get eaten. We have humans, dwarves, werewolves, zombies, golems, trolls, and vampires in the watch, and we don't eat each other. Why would we start now? Right, Captain?"  
  
Carrot started. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. It's just - I'm not used to - of course all beings are entitled to - er - but a rat?"  
  
"I'm all right, really," said the rat, breathing hard. "The city is just so - different - now. I used to always follow my instinct and run. Now I have to stop and think. It's surprising how much harder it is."  
  
"I think," said Vimes, "I know exactly what you mean."  
  
***  
  
A man walked down the road outside the Thieves' Guild. He was as unremarkable as pie. He was also leaning on a windowsill. A second later, he wasn't. No one noticed. 


	2. Danger Is Not Always Big And Pointy

I suppose I could say that my work is to Pratchett's as Mocha is to Cappuccino. A little less sophisticated, but with chocolate. He owns the coffee shop. I just work here.  
  
I realize that one of the things I failed to convey in Leonard's character is his failure to recognize political worries even if they bite him on the bum.   
  
***  
  
Apply Liberally felt strange running down the streets of this city again. She saw humans in such a different way now. They weren't just big dumb things to run away from. And now she carried her official sword and badge of a City Watch. Of course, no humans here would recognize them, but they reminded her that some humans thought of her as an equal. Some were even subordinate to her, now that she was a corporal. That was the strangest feeling. In Bad Blintz, size only mattered when the need arose to crawl around in small holes and run across clotheslines. A Watchbeing was a Watchbeing.   
  
She was running through a cellar, and she thought she could dimly remember it from years before. That had been another life, when her mind was full of mush, and instinctive primal fear was her only reason for anything. That had been before she'd looked at the letters on a bottle of something-or-other on the rubbish pile in back of the University, and realized they were meant to make noises. And they said, apply liberally. She thought, those are nice sounds. I should tell them to other rats. That can be something that they know me by.   
  
That had also been before Maurice, the mangy, sneaking alleycat, had started talking to them. They had made many enemies by falling in with him. She wondered whether the people of this city had heard of their infamous trickery. They never tried it on Ankh-Morpork. It would be difficult to give this city more of a plague of rats than it already had.   
  
She was lost in thought, when out of the gloom came the scent of a dirty little gnome. She remembered something else about this old city. Arthur. She put her paw on her sword. She saw the gnome, like a tiny little human, coming at her, yelling. He could kill a rat with just a kick. She drew her sword and stabbed him in the leg.   
  
"Yeouch!" he cried. "What is that thing? Horrible rat!"  
  
"It's a sword, and I am a Watchrat, so you'd better be careful what else you call me!" She was a little bit taken aback by his tone, a little more by seeing the familiar shapes and sizes of people mixed up.  
  
Wee Mad Arthur was glaring at her, and clutching his leg. "So you're one of them, are you? Talking rats! Why don't you bloody well stay in the palace? You know this is my territory! And what do you mean, Watchrat? There's no such thing!"  
  
Corporal Liberally stood up straight on her back paws. "In Bad Blintz there is. Now, I am Corporal Apply Liberally, and I am on a mission to collect information about the rats in this city. You say there are some changelings in the palace? What palace is that?"  
  
***  
  
"Have you run out of paper already, Leonard?" asked Vetinari, as he noticed that the man was drawing on one of the plaster walls of his room.   
  
Leonard of Quirm looked up from his sketch. "What? Oh, no. I just wanted to paint a life-size picture of some people eating supper."  
  
"Mmm. And I don't suppose you have any idea why?"  
  
"Why?" said Leonard. "No. I suppose not. If I went around asking myself why all the time, I would never actually do anything."  
  
"I sincerely hope that not too many people think that way, Leonard. Very few people have such completely benign intentions as you."  
  
"Yes, the world is full of frighteningly insane people. I just can't understand how they can use so many of their good, useful ideas for actually injuring people. They should pay more attention to the beautiful way in which water droplets fall into puddles, for example. I am quite happy staying in here trying to get my automatical tea engine to work properly." He began to sketch a man pouring tea. He held his own teacup, and examined his hand. He took a sip absently.   
  
"The city is indeed terribly complex," said Vetinari. "Sometimes even I am at a loss to understand what the signs mean, and what is brewing in its depths."  
  
The automatical tea engine exploded again, spattering the wall with light brown spots. "Oh dear," said Leonard.  
  
***  
  
The man didn't sneak across the courtyard of the Thieves' Guild. He walked as if he was an old family friend, dropping in to see the occupants, and he would go and surprise them and it would be jolly good fun so it's best not to interrupt. How he managed to convey all this in the way he walked, not to mention through the concealing folds of his clothing and the pitch-black night, was a closely-guarded secret of the Assassins' Guild. Mantis was particularly good at it.   
  
Mantis was good at everything he did. That was why he was a master assassin, only one degree below Lord Downey himself. He taught classes in the secret arts of mental invisibility. Mantis was just another part of the night. While other assassins preferred to project an image, wearing colors in the spectrum of colors that are beyond black, and moving like patches of utter nothingness between the fog, he was as solid as the fog. In a city where rains of shellfish are routine, this can actually be quite difficult. He actually wore a color just this side of black, and in the street people did not create a wake and make room for him as he passed, the way they did other assassins. He also found that an idiotic smile usually served him well. He might have been just another human being.   
  
The other thing about Mantis was that he didn't need to project an image. His name, and his reputation, begat terror. He was known as the most insidious, deadly assassin in the city. He had never failed to eradicate the subject of a contract. And there had been many. Even some of his clients were terrified of contacting him. They sent money by messenger to the Guild, and he would send back a receipt. They never saw each other. The wonders of modern society, he often thought. When you can mail-order death.   
  
But when he was introduced to his clients, things were usually a bit different. He would walk into the room, and the nobleman behind the desk would not look up. Mantis would clear his throat, and say, "Good morning, my lord."  
  
The man would eventually look up, and go, "Eh? Who are you?"  
  
"Mantis," he would say.  
  
"Hah, well, you're an amusing fellow, anyway. But now, really, what is your name, my good man, and your business here?"  
  
"I am Mantis, master assassin. I am here to accept a contract, containing terms of life and death."  
  
"Hohah, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! You can't be Mantis, he's terrible and insidious and..."  
  
The man trailed off as Mantis got out his dagger. The hand holding the dagger did not appear threatening, but the dagger held in the hand did.   
  
"My lord," he said, "Do you know the original meaning of the word 'mortify'?"  
  
The man nodded his head mutely.  
  
"As you can see, I am excellent at both." 


	3. A Crime Goes Unpunished

Chapter Three  
  
Mantis crept up the stairs of the building where the highest-ranking thieves lived. He was thinking about his next commission. That morning a messenger had arrived at his door.  
  
"Oi, Mantis. Lord Rithtake wants you again. Someone's pissed 'im off royally," he had said.  
"You ought to have more respect for someone who could terminate you in half a second without even trying," said Mantis, but he said it with a smile. He knew Lord Rithtake's boy well now. Anyone who has worked for that deranged man, learns when to fear assassins and when not to. You feared them when Rithtake glared at you in that peculiar way that seemed to see you in the past tense.  
  
Mantis blew a poison sleepy dart at one of the guards stationed in the hallway, then ran forward and caught him as he fell. The guard was massive, and would have made a very audible thump.  
  
A conversation with Lord Trinton Bezoar Rithtake III was like the visual and auditory equivalent of the taste of lemons. If you weren't careful, it made you squint for days afterward, and cringe at sudden noises. Fortunately, assassins were trained to maintain equilibrium in such situations. The only residual effect was a tendency to twitch whenever someone said the word "money!" sharply.  
From one day to another, there was no telling the state of his personal finances. He had no business sense of his own, but should one of his servants come back to him with bad news on the outcome of his latest outlandish scheme...well, every one of Rithtake's remaining servants had developed incredible abilities to turn doomed ventures into overnight successes.   
From the price of the commission Rithtake was asking, one of them must have reached a new plane of financial consciousness.  
The Patrician. Mantis had thought it over. Mantis, like any smart assassin,* was scared stiff of him. Fear...fear was what kept assassins alive. As long as an assassin is afraid, he knows he's got a realistic grasp of his situation.   
  
[*Meaning, of course, every assassin who's still alive. Most stupid would-be assassins died, if not during their years of schooling, while attempting to pass the exam. One glaring exception to this rule was a man named Jack "Nostrils" Jackson, who completed his exam by default when he tripped over a discarded sausage; his dagger slipped and terminally impaled his instructor. The next day he went into a pub, got roaring drunk, and patted a dwarf on the head, a commonly recognized form of suicide in Ankh-Morpork.]  
  
Mantis took out his lock-picking tools and oil, and began to examine the door.  
  
He had accepted the contract, of course.  
So. An attempt on the Patrician. The Guild's rosters showed his price at one million dollars. This payment was enticing, but the Guild always had reason for the price of a life. Vetinari must inflict a million dollars worth of fear on any assassin who even considered taking up a knife against him. Mantis could believe that.  
Stories had circulated around the Guild. One rumor said that the most dangerous mind on the Disc, that of the inventor Leonard of Quirm, had dreamed up ingenious and terrible devices to guard the palace from stealth. This might be true, but in Mantis's opinion, there were even more formidable deterrents guarding Vetinari's life. One of them was Vimes.   
Sir Samuel Vimes was quickly becoming legendary himself within the Assassin's Guild. Mantis had seen the man once, years ago, when he had just passed his final exam and become an assassin. He had been walking down the street, for once being conspicuously deadly, just for fun, and watching people avoid him. He had seen a Watchman lying in the gutter outside the Mended Drum. The filth of the city was running around him, as fast as it could ooze, to join its kind in the Ankh. It hadn't surprised Mantis at the time. The Watch hadn't meant anything then. Then something happened.  
  
Mantis oiled the hinges thoroughly.  
  
Vimes began to try to change things. He insulted people, and he made enemies. He made enemies among the rich and powerful. He somehow managed to become the richest man in the city himself, which only enabled him to make more expensive enemies, more effectively.   
When the first contract that the Guild received to nullify him, failed, it was considered normal clumsiness for a first-time assassin. The second was called a fluke. After the third, they started raising his price. Each time a member of the Guild contracted to terminate him, the assassin in question received less ridicule for their failure, and more ridicule that they had accepted the contract in the first place. And his price kept going up. It was now more than twenty thousand dollars.  
  
Mantis gave the latch one last touch of oil, then turned the handle and pushed open the door.   
  
Students would sit around the breakfast table in the Guild hall, attempting to poison each other, and speculating on the most effective way to dispatch the Commander of the Watch. Mantis had listened to one particularly interesting conversation a few days ago, as he ate breakfast at the head table in the Guild hall.   
"It should be so easy! He doesn't even have any bodyguards! You could just walk into his house and embed a crossbow bolt in his skull!"  
"Yeah, right. Reek, do you know what happened to the last person who tried that? He barely missed stepping on a bear trap that was in the shrubbery, he managed to stick one of his socks into the mouth of the gargoyle door knocker before it sounded the alarm, and he had gotten to the hallway outside Vimes's room, when he tripped over a pet dragon! It singed his eyebrows off, and it set his crossbow on fire! And, I see that arsenic Reek, he was one of the lucky ones. He still had all his bones whole. When I pass my final, I'll be smart enough not to go after people like Vimes. Ruins your reputation. Hell, everyone knows what he did to Lord Downey. Fooled 'im into giving away secrets, then gave 'im a bloody nose. He's a bloody ghost, Reek. He just doesn't die."  
  
Mantis avoided the tripwire across the center of the room. This thief had reason to fear assassins. He stole a lot of very big things. He had gold leafing on his headboard.  
  
"He's nothing, though. I saw 'im once, when I was a kid..."  
"You are a kid, Reek, and I'm beginning to think you always will be."  
"Shut up and let me finish, Kevin! Why do you think I tried to poison you? You talk too much!"  
"The arsenic? I thought that was a joke, Reek! You'll never survive this place. Even if I hadn't just put Coatlin in your tea, you annoying twit!"  
"But he was just a - a drunken coward, wandering the city, running away from things," said a progressively duller voice.   
"Well, people are not always what they seem. Now he's outrageously rich, annoyingly influential, and incredibly expensive to inhume. And you're dead!"  
There was a condescending laugh, a scuffling noise, and the sound of steel being drawn, and a cry. "You're right," said the one called Reek. "People aren't always what they seem. And you really talked too much."  
"Reek!" boomed the voice of Lord Downey from beside Mantis.  
"Yes, sir?" said Reek. He was wiping his dagger on his napkin.  
"Not at the breakfast table! And Never Without Payment!"   
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'm sure my parents will pay for it."  
  
Mantis reached the bed, and quickly completed his assignment. He left the contract on the table: Ten thousand dollars in exchange for the life of master thief, Verland Spacks.  
  
Vimes's appearance was certainly deceiving, almost as much as Mantis's own. He might not have the education of assassins; but there is one quality that all good assassins have, that can't be learned at the Guild. Vimes had it too. They suspect everyone, but show fear of no one. He trusted his luck. He had to. If you go about worrying if someone's going to jump out and stick a knife in your back, someone eventually will.  
And Vimes was set on protecting the Patrician. Not out of any fellowship, or because he liked the Patrician's decisions. It had come to the ears of the Guild that Vimes had once said that if anyone was going to kill Vetinari he'd like it to be him.  
Vimes was going to be singularly annoying. 


	4. Off Duty and Out to Lunch

New! Chapter Four! Now with More Rats!!! (beware the mind that uses triple exclamation points)  
  
I realize I should have mentioned this earlier, but really don't read this chapter if you're still planning on reading The Amazing Maurice for the first time at some point. Have a cliffhanger at this point in my story while you go out and buy some real PTerryism.  
  
Note: I didn't realize when I wrote the first chapter how badly I was restricting my time frame. Events in this story do not necessarily happen in the order in which they are written. Most of them do, though. I think it all works if you move the last scene of the first chapter to somewhere in this one. If you notice any discrepancies that can't be easily shuffled with and fixed, let me know.   
Oh, and in the very first scene, Cornflakes should say "Good morning."   
  
***  
  
Chapter Four  
  
They met up with Darktan in the cellar under Harga's House of Ribs, for a snack before venturing out into the city again.   
  
"This is so strange," said Apply Liberally. "It feels wrong to be eating this human-place's food without asking. It's stealing. Back home we would have to arrest ourselves."  
  
"I know," said Cornflakes, "But remember, there is no contract here. These people are used to having rats steal from them." He looked hesitantly at the interesting mass they were eating. What wasn't grease was unidentifiable. "Besides, I don't think it counts if most humans wouldn't consider it food anyway."  
  
"True," said Darktan, contemplating the blob as well. "So," he continued, "What have you got to report? Did you get any information?"  
  
"Yes, sir!" they said.   
  
The Liutenant began. "I encountered two local watchmen, including their Commander, a man named Vimes. He told me that he had seen rats living in the palace dungeons, and the ruler of the city uses them as spies and servants."  
  
"Good! What about you, Apply Liberally?"  
  
"I was nearly attacked by a gnome, and I almost got scared and ran away, but I got out my sword and bit him with it first. He's like a little rat catcher! He got mad at me, and said that this is his territory, and that talking rats belong in the palace."  
  
Just then three more rats came running down the walls. Darktan looked up, but even if he didn't know the smell of Sardines so well, he would have known from the swords and badges, and of course the little hat, that these were no ordinary rats.   
  
"Sorry I'm late, Boss," said Sardines from under the rim of his tiny straw hat. "There are a lot of rooftops to run in this city!"  
  
"Having fun, I see?" Darktan said.  
  
"Righto, Boss!"  
  
"Except for the trouble with the gargoyle," said Bestbefore, who was a more sensible old rat.   
  
"He nearly ate us!" said Lance-Constable Bitesize, who was visibly trying to be excited about it instead of nervous. Bitesize was a young rat, and had never been in the city before.   
  
"But he eventually got it through his stone head that we were watchbeings, and then he was glad to help us. He was on guard duty too," said Bestbefore.   
  
"His name was Downspout. He showed us the city that we could see. There was a lot. We were really high up. I've never been that high up. I've never even seen anything as tall as that building. Until we were up there. There were lots of taller things we could see. Like the Tower of Art. And the Barbican. And the Palace."  
  
"All right, slow down, Bitesize!" Darktan said. "That's enough information for one breath. He told you where the palace was?"  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
"That's exactly what we need!"  
  
***  
  
They went to the Palace. As they made their way through the city, they didn't see very many other rats. They remembered that kee-kees, rats that squeak but don't talk, usually avoided them. There hadn't been any in Bad Blintz in a long time.   
  
"We should be getting near the palace, and the smell of rats is getting stronger," said Darktan. "Keep a lookout for anything that doesn't smell like running away."  
  
They crawled through a crumbling part of a brick wall, and found themselves in a cellar that seemed slightly less dank and abandoned. A black rat sat near the opposite wall. It looked at them, and their badges and swords, and said, "Who are you? You are not one of our clan. And you are wearing human things."  
  
They stared at each other for a moment. There was going to be more to this meeting than the smell, the way it always had been when they met new rats, just the smell. The Clan had all changed together. Now they needed first words. This was going to take some adjustment. But Darktan had adjusted to worse, like diplomatic meetings with humans who asked if they could pick him up to talk to him.  
  
"Hello, I am Darktan, leader of another clan. We live in a far away town, but we came to talk with you. Can you tell me who leads your clan?"  
  
"My name is Vrrkeh," she said. She smelled nervous. "Rth!" she squeaked into a hole in the wall behind her. "Get Skrp! We have some visitors!"  
  
******  
  
Lord Downey gaped at the sheet in front of him. "You've accepted a contract on - on Vetinari?" He was struck speechless for a moment, his well-trimmed black beard bobbing up and down. "But - but the patrician...." He collected himself. "That is, it's not that I particularly like the way he runs the city, but he does run it. Are you sure this contract is a wise choice?"  
  
"As you yourself taught me, sir, it's the money that matters, above everything else. My client is prepared to pay more than the set price of one million dollars. And a contract is a contract."  
  
"And you've read the school records on him, of course? Know his abilities? If you'll recall, also, there was an entire weekend seminar in the Guild hall two years ago; I believe it was entitled, 'The Many Reasons Not to Accept a Contract Against Vetinari?'"  
  
"Yes, sir. I am quite aware of the implications of this contract, and the danger it places me in." He smiled, and as always, it appeared completely benign. "The same stakes as always, Lord Downey. Just a little heavier than you're used to carrying."  
  
Downey cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I suppose all I have to say now, Rupert, is that your career as an assassin cannot go farther than this. With this contract, you will either hit the top, or the bottom. Fatally. I cannot say which it will be, although I think the latter much more probable."  
  
"Believe what you will, Downey. And my name is Mantis." He grinned cheerfully at the guild leader, and slipped out the window and up onto the roof, avoiding the seventeen poisoned traps without much thought. 


	5. Close Encounters of the Vetinari kind

I Disclaim, already! It's not mine! Not even Bitesize, Harriet! To allay confusion, I have added a list of the characters mentioned, with their creators, in the first chapter.   
  
There's one thing I don't thank Pterry, Canon God, for doing. That is writing both that smart rats can read human writing, and that they can't, in the same book. Aargh! I didn't realize until now! So much for my plot! Got to fix it now.   
  
Yes, this first scene /was/ in the first chapter. It's here now. It makes more sense, I promise.  
  
Sorry if it's a little bit too wordy. My working vocabulary tends to actually /increase/ when I'm sleep deprived.   
  
Chapter Five  
***  
  
Vimes put on his coat. He went out the door. He walked down the street. He watched a cart full of cabbages go past him. It started drizzling. He put his hands in his pockets. He found a cigar in one of them. He took the wrapper off. He lit it carefully. He puffed at it, and he kicked some gravel that was in the street. He watched it roll down the gutter. He sighed. He wondered if the city was driving him quietly mad.   
  
Police work's not supposed to require thought, he thought. Not as such. You just stood huddled in the rain, letting your eyes glaze over and your armor rust...the main qualification for the job was to have nothing better to do. And, if you wanted to stay alive, it also helped to know the city so well that your feet could recognize every cobblestone they came across, and could indicate to your legs which ways would be a good idea not to go, and steer you away from them, without the inconvenient intermediary of the brain.  
  
***  
  
"Hello. I'm Skrp, the leader of the rats of Vetinari's palace. I hear you come from far away. Who are you, and how have you come here?"  
  
"I am Darktan. I am head of the clan of Bad Blintz. I have brought some of my rats with me on a mission to find out if there were any rats like you in this city still." He didn't smell friendliness. He took a step towards Skrp.  
  
Skrp stepped up close to him. They were nose to nose, an especially dangerous position for a rat. "So. A historical occasion. Two rat leaders meet, and no one cowers. No one dies. We have become like humans, fighting with words."  
  
Darktan smelled the edge of anger to his words, but he stood his ground. "I did not come to fight in any way. Living with the humans of Bad Blintz has taught us that beings with minds have them so that they don't have to fight. We can respect each other as equals. We are no longer animals, that fight every time we meet." He was getting angry too. He fought to at least keep his voice level, and believe his own words.   
  
"Vetinari has taught us much as well. He taught us that life is a struggle, and that even intelligent minds can be stupid, and the most valuable thing on the Disc is control. He helped us learn to control with thoughts instead of teeth and claws. In every pairing of minds, there is one that has a fraction more control over the other. Even among humans, every meeting is a fight."  
  
Bestbefore spoke. "This Vetinari; you cower before him, don't you? Just like you would have before, to any rat bigger and stronger than you?"  
  
"Yes," said Skrp. "He is superior to me, just as I am to all my rats. You spoke without your leader's permission? Darktan, why do you allow this?"  
  
"He's got a mind. I let him use it. It usually gives me information I'm better off for knowing."  
  
"Darktan, sir?" said Cornflakes. "That must be why the Commander said he'd never heard a rat speak before. They wouldn't speak in front of humans."  
  
"We are very different," said Skrp. "Incredible. When we are so much the same thing. Rats with minds."  
  
"Well, Skrp, I'm not going to fight you. But I'm not going to cower either."  
  
"Darktan. I'm not going to fight you with claws. But I will always be ready with words."  
  
"Good." They both took a step back at the same time, and then relaxed, just a little.   
  
Darktan stretched his back. "Just when you think you're starting to get over these instincts. I didn't mean our first meeting to be that way."  
  
"I see," said Skrp, smoothing his fur, "that I, too, would not have done that if only thought led me. We are all still rats."  
  
"And even rats have a lot to learn about each other. Let me ask about your clan."  
  
***  
  
Yes, Mantis had studied Vetinari. It was best to know as much about every person in the city as possible. They might be your next assignment, or your next employer. In the case of Vetinari, he would have expected the latter. But he had prepared for this.  
  
The records that the Guild had on him were intriguing, even riveting. From the first, the young lord had excelled in his studies, particularly knife-throwing, history, and, surprisingly, poetry. He was prized by his teachers. He also excelled in not being exterminated by one of his fellow students in a jealous rage. This gave him a distinct advantage for rising through the ranks of the school. His skills grew, and he was encouraged by his professors to take up more of the offensive classes available. He declined.  
  
Instead he chose to delve into the study of languages. This was not a usual course of study, and one of his professors, Lord Zandemere, who taught fencing and cooking,* once approached him on the subject.   
  
[*An assassin must know how to cook. Food tasters are all very well, but not all assassins are rich, and not all food tasters are honest, and circumstances may require even a noble to do without them.]  
  
"Ah, young Lord Vetinari," he said. "I've been meaning to ask you about something. I have an interest in the proper education of every student of the Guild. And I was wondering if you could explain to me, why exactly you have chosen your current course of study. It seems to me to be rather light on weapons training. I mean to say, an Assassin must prepare for every eventuality."  
  
Vetinari looked at the professor, and simply said, "The pen is mightier than the sword, sir."   
  
"But, my young Havelock, you must understand that you are an assassin. That is merely a metaphor. Metaphors cannot be put into practice."  
  
'Young Havelock' looked thoughtfully at his questioner, raised his eyebrows guilelessly. "It's a metaphor?" he said. "In my experience, it is literally true."  
  
The professor stared back, and tried not to think too hard about what the boy was saying. It caused an uncomfortable little place in the back of his mind to twitch.  
  
Vetinari had been fourteen at the time, but he was already Vetinari. He hid his amusement as long as he could.  
  
"Well, my old fish, see you next class," he said, and left before Zandemere could register the words properly. A couple of stragglers, who had been cleaning up the coldroom, came out sniggering. The story had made the rounds of the school within half an hour. It was now one of those legends that was passed down through generations of students.  
  
Mantis had at first not believed that Vetinari had been serious when he made that comment. Then he considered: This axiom, as it seemed, actually worked in the hands of the Patrician. Given a choice between confronting a beweaponed Watchman, or a summons written by Vetinari, only the very bravest in the city would choose to face the wrath of the pen.   
  
In fact, in the Patrician's presence, when the weapons he had available to him included not only words, but sarcasm, metallically glinting eyes, and a pair of extremely intimidating eyebrows, those brave souls often wished that they were instead facing a horde of savage barbarians, or perhaps a large fiery siege engine.   
  
***  
  
"Why did you really come, Darktan?" said Skrp. "What is this mission you are on?"  
  
"We wanted to ask you if you would like to come back with us. This city is no place for a thinking rat."  
  
"Your offer is generous, but we will stay here. I think you misunderstand our place in this city."  
  
"How can you live in a place so full of kee-kees?"  
  
"We learn to deal with it. Rats come with the city, just like the rest of the vermin."  
  
"But you think you're better than they are. You're civilized!"  
  
"So some rats are more polite than others. Isn't that always the way it goes? Even among humans, this is a corner of the world where the rubbish collects. Most of the real vermin in this city run on two legs."  
  
"Oh. I see," answered Darktan. "I try not to think of humans that way anymore. I know now that they can be just as civilized as us. In Bad Blintz, there are only a few of us, and only a few of them, and if someone can't follow the rules we kick them out. I don't think much about what happens to them after that. I guess the kee-kees have to live somewhere; I guess so do the dregs of humanity. But I can't imagine trying to manage them."  
  
"It all comes of being a student of Vetinari," said Skrp. "It's what he's best at." 


	6. It's Too Quiet

Hi everyone who reads my story and mostly don't review it! I'm finally approaching the climax, I think. It's all coming together. You don't have to rave about it, just tell me what you think, please?  
  
I try to keep my insanity well in check so as not to disturb other people unnecessarily, but I am not yet so insane as to believe that I am an adult male fabulously popular author who lives in England and grows carnivorous plants. Translation: I am not the fellow who owns Discworld. He lives far, far away.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
****  
  
Skrp approached the Patrician, standing on the desk in front of his folded hands. Vetinari nodded for the rat to speak.   
  
"I was wondering, sir, if you would be willing to host a diplomatic event."   
  
"A diplomatic event?" asked the Patrician. "Organized by rats? Intriguing. What type of event?"  
  
"Well, sir, we have just had a visit from the leader of the intelligent rat complement of a small town called Bad Blintz."  
  
"Really? I had thought that you were unique among your species in the use of language. Bad Blintz...that is an Uberwaldian name, is it not?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Although, in fact, Darktan's clan came from this city, originally. You may have heard of them, by the name, The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents?" Skrp said disdainfully.  
  
"Ah, yes, I recall hearing of them." The Patrician smiled a small smile. "They certainly had a - knack - for getting what they wanted. Although, certainly not the method I would have recommended. Much too conspicuous." He looked thoughtfully at the rat on his desk. "I have not heard news of their exploits for quite a while. And they say they are the rats of Bad Blintz? What have they been up to, I wonder?"  
  
"It seems they have integrated themselves into the human community. Several of them are members of the City Watch!"   
  
"Indeed? That is an impressive accomplishment. And they maintain this arrangement peacefully? I find it hard to believe that so many of them in the same place could be so civilized."  
  
"Rats, sir? Surely, we are..."  
  
"No, Skrp. The humans, of course. They are the ones that are so troublingly inconsistent." He glanced at one of the reports on his desk, and sighed.   
  
  
  
***  
  
Vimes arrived in front of the palace. "Good afternoon, sir!" said the man on duty at the gate.  
  
"Afternoon, er, Encks," said Vimes. He had been making an effort to at least know the names of the people he had supposedly recruited, even though for all he knew about what he had been signing, at the time, it might have been a receipt for a delivery of Klatchian coffee to the canteen.   
  
It was still drizzling, and Encks was huddled in his cloak, looking as if he was trying not to show the Commander his utter dejectedness.  
  
Vimes looked ruefully at the remains of his cigar. It was a very good cigar. Sybil had bought it for him. She would buy many more.  
  
It was a fashionable cigar, he thought to himself. Its little label had said, 'Pantweed's: Fashionable Cigars since the Year of the Mock Turtle.' Vimes was of the opinion that if something was fashionable, something was wrong with it. People just weren't that smart.   
  
He glanced around at the Watchman again. "You smoke, Encks?" Vimes asked.  
  
"Yes, sir," he said.   
  
"Would you like the rest of this?"  
  
"Thank you, sir!" said Encks. After all, it was a very good cigar.  
  
Vimes glanced around again, and an unlicensed thief fleeing with a woman's purse stubbornly failed to appear. Then, seeing no more obvious reasons to delay any longer, he went in.  
  
***  
  
"Tonight, we will show you the hospitality of the Patrician's Palace. There will be a banquet in your honor, and the Patrician, and possibly a few of the more open-minded nobles of the city, will attend." Skrp cleared his throat thoughtfully. "We had hoped to make it a ball, but I am at a loss as to how to bring in musicians without alerting the entire Guild as to our nature, which, of course, is out of the question."  
  
"Sounds posh, Guv," said Sardines. "Think I need a new hat."  
  
Skrp glared briefly at Sardines, but chose to ignore the appellation.  
  
Darktan thought. "Well," he said, "As it happens, we have connections with the Guild of Musicians."  
  
"Really?" said Skrp. "What an interesting state of affairs. - Oh, yes, I see now. The nameless piper who traditionally shows up shortly after a mysterious plague of rats?"  
  
"Actually, his name is Keith, although it is surprising how long you can know him without learning that." Darktan smiled to himself. "He's just come with us to visit his friends in the Guild. He hasn't seen any of them in years, and they are the only human family he has. Although I'm not sure how long that's going to last." He chuckled. "He and the Mayor's daughter are getting along very well."  
  
"Well, as long as you can guarantee secrecy, it sounds like an excellent arrangement. If you can contact this Keith, and tell him to choose the more discreet among his colleagues, we shall have a proper reception for your diplomatic party."  
  
"Right," said Darktan. "Bestbefore, why don't you go down to the Guild house and talk to the kid? Take someone with you, you remember how this place is."  
  
"Got it, Darktan."  
  
"One of us should be there," said Skrp. "Rth, go and make sure the arrangements are properly planned, and look out for our interests as well."  
  
"Don't trust me, eh?" said Bestbefore, with the beginning of a growl.   
  
"Bestbefore. Relax. It does make sense. They know more about palace affairs, and they know more about their own affairs."  
  
"Yes, sir," he answered immediately. "So, Rth, is it? Shall we head out?"  
  
"Quite," said Rth. 


	7. They Crawl

Terry Pratchett is just awesome, that's all there is. I can't quite figure out how he does it. I think I know what needs to happen, now I just have to figure out how to make it all funny. It's taking a while.  
  
Chapter 7  
  
***  
  
"In return for the Patrician's advice and the free run of the palace, we do certain tasks for him, things that could not be done by any human. It is similar to the way you describe your own involvement in the city Watch. We make sure that the vermin stay out of the palace. All kinds of vermin. You met one of our guards on the way in. We also patrol all the secret passages and small spaces of the palace, the parts that even the most trusted of Vetinari's human guards do not know about. If you would like to see our officers at work – I was just going to go on an inspection tour. Would you like to join me?"  
  
"Certainly," said Darktan. He was a little bewildered by the air of control that hung around this place and these beings, as if in defiance of the chaos outside the palace walls. As they started running along the passages, he noted that Skrp had a dignified air about him that suggested that if he had been human, he would be walking stiffly with his hands clasped behind his back.   
  
***  
  
Mantis knew the city well. Not in the way that a nobleman might, one of his colleagues at the Guild who specialized in annulling his peers in daring style over the rooftops of his own street, and many of whom rarely set foot on the ground, between sedan chairs in the day and grappling hooks at night. Not the way a resident of a more humble stature might, having walked most of its roads and alleys, knowing the true meaning of the phrase, 'the city never sleeps.*' They had some idea of the murky depths of the place.  
  
[*The air of the city, which, as mentioned before, has a character all its own, is afraid of dozing off in case it gets stolen out from under itself;** or as one of many other assorted guilds may happen to it.]  
  
[**In which case, it might actually be easier to breathe here.]  
  
Not even as one of the Thieves' Guild knew the city, with its mazes of warehouses and old abandoned buildings, the ins and outs of the place, how to get where you wanted to go. Even they rarely thought of the depths of the city in such literal terms as Mantis.   
  
No human knew the cellars of Ankh-Morpork as well as Mantis.  
  
He knew its darkest half, the maze of forgotten cellars, buried roads and ancient sewers that lay under the consciousness of its citizens. The only ones who knew them better were small enough to crawl through mouse holes.   
  
He crawled through muck unseen. All assassins knew that leather was too noisy, and satin too apt to catch whatever light there was. Mantis considered that velvet was too heavy when it got wet, and silk too hard to clean and too expensive to replace. Most of the time he wore a simple wool coat.  
  
He had never managed to explore the cellars of the palace. There were really very few entrances. Someone had been making sure that even the very bottom of the complex was well kept up. An intelligent man indeed, Vetinari, to do so even when so few assassins would lower themselves to such an entrance.   
  
Even when Mantis found what he thought was a way in, he had never actually seen what was on the other side. One large pipe that seemed to be heading in the right direction had suddenly flooded, just as he had started up it. His lantern went out. He decided that way was too dangerous. He had gone home soggy. He kept making squelching noises and he dripped in a trail telling everyone where he had gone. That was the last time that he wore velvet when hunting underground.  
  
One night, when he had finished a particularly auspicious poisoning, he was hiding out, and got curious about the palace dungeons again. He tried a different approach this time, widening a hole in a brick wall that had grown just big enough for him, but not big enough for him and all his equipment. He found a fairly clean cellar, but that was what was ominous about it. A cellar that clean was an odd place to find so many rats.  
  
Ordinarily he didn't mind rats, he was used to them, but there was something odd about these rats, and his assassin's instincts were telling him loud and clear that right now would be a good time to be somewhere else. So he left. That night his only mission was to stay out of trouble.   
  
But tonight was different. Tonight the Patrician would die.   
  
***  
  
  
  
Bestbefore trotted beside Rth as they navigated the gutters, headed for the Guild of Musicians. "You know, I'm starting to remember this place. I should, I lived here half my life. But I didn't care about things like musicians then. That way, isn't it?"  
  
"You may well know the way better than I," said Rth. "I don't leave the palace often. The city's dangerous. I think this is it, I can hear the drums in the cellar. We can climb this drainpipe up to the windows up there. Now, how shall we find your young rat piper?"  
  
They ran up the drainpipe, and along the ledge under the attic windows. "Wait, I smell him," said Bestbefore. "It's that window, second from the end. Hey, stupid-looking kid!" said the rat loudly as he reached the sill. Rth looked at him strangely. "Old habit," he explained.   
  
"Hello, Bestbefore," said Keith, who was sitting at a small desk in the attic room, playing a flute. "You know, nobody here eats strawberry yogurt. Hello," he said to Rth.   
  
"Good afternoon. I am a messenger for the rats of Vetinari's palace. There will be a diplomatic reception in the palace tonight, and we would like to hire a group of musicians who are trustworthy, and not afraid of rats. I wonder if you could choose a few players you trust, and intervene on our behalf."  
  
"I suppose," said Keith. "Wait here, and I'll get some people." He left the room.  
  
"It seems he's had many adventures with you. Not much surprises him anymore, does it?" commented Rth.  
  
"It's funny, but I don't think we ever surprised him."  
  
***  
  
  
  
Mantis had prepared, for one, by brushing up on his knife throwing and dodging. One of the few things that could be drawn clearly from the records was that in his first years at the school, Vetinari had competed at top levels. Unfortunately, Mantis had little idea how to prepare to face an opponent well-versed in language studies. He figured that if the balance stood at a place where what Mantis needed to do was remember an obscure root in Latation, the match was probably too far gone and he was in Vetinari's hands. Well, Mantis was prepared for almost anything, at least.  
  
He approached the cellar that was one of the few places in the city that had successfully unnerved him. Nothing. No rats out here. He entered through the hole in the brick wall. Many rats. Going in and out of a hole in the stone wall on the other side.   
  
He generally didn't mind rats. They were rather familiar, the little sneaks. Fighting, and biting, and killing one another. Actually he felt quite at home; it reminded him of the Guild.  
  
But there were so many rats. All in one place, all crawling in and out of that hole that led to the palace cellars. So many! He knew that if he tried to go through, one of them would probably bite him, and then they would go into a frenzy, and he would be eaten alive.  
  
And they were acting very strangely. He was usually very sure of what his eyes told him, but he thought he saw one of them wearing a sword at its side.   
  
And he was sure one of them had just /said,/ "Squeak!"  
  
He exited, fast. As he crawled out of the tunnels to the alleys of the city, he contemplated a more traditional approach. Climbing walls was not something alien to him. But he was definitely disconcerted by the incident.   
  
*** 


End file.
